


Honor in Winter

by Lithosaurus



Series: Self Indulgent ASOIAF stuff [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Written by a middle child, i feel like that's extra relevant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2019-08-07 23:24:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16418009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lithosaurus/pseuds/Lithosaurus
Summary: A sequel to Son of Stark: in which Lysa and Petyr's son is passed off as Robb's twin, Ned comes clean to Catelyn about Jon's mother, and the 'triplets' are raised in Winterfell. I got a pretty good response on the one-shot and can never leave a story well enough alone so here's a glacially updated follow-up.





	1. Hollis

“Ready…Draw…Fire!” Ser Rodrick shouted and their bows sang. The sound of arrowheads of striking straw targets rang out. Hollis smugly noted that his arrow was closer to the center of the target than Robb’s, though both of theirs had struck one ring out from the bullseye. Theon’s rough laugh interrupted his analysis. The squid’s arrow had struck dead center but Bran’s…

“Boy, we you even paying attention?” The arms master sighed. Bran shuffled his feet. His arrow had lodged in the wooden frame that the targets sat on.

“I was!” Bran insisted.

“Hmm, again.” Rodrick snapped and the boys selected another arrow from their quivers.

“Nock…Draw…Fire!” Hollis’s arrow landed a finger’s breath from his first. Robb’s hit the bullseye. He frowned and glared at his brother who grinned back cheerfully.

“Bran,” Jon sighed as Theon laughed all the harder. Both Jon and Theon’s arrows had hit the center of the target but Bran’s…

A scrape on the hard packed earth of the courtyard showed where the arrow had struck and bounced off to go skittering across the ground. Hollis was about to offer his little brother a word of encouragement when another arrow struck the bullseye of the target. He followed the angle of it back up to the upper walkways. Arya gave a bow with her weapon in hand. The courtyard laughed as Rodrick tried to order her down. Hollis felt like he was the only one to notice Bran wasn’t laughing. He even heard the soft chuckle of his father coming from the far side of the balcony.

Their parents were watching the training from above. Father was wearing riding clothes and a smile. Mother stood beside him looking far less amused. Her frown had reached her forehead and she seemed distracted. Hollis wondered if it had anything to do with the raven that had arrived last night.

He wasn’t actually supposed to be awake but he had been having another nightmare about falling. Walking around the castle and feeling stone beneath his feet helped. Maester Luwin hadn’t even noticed him while he bustled down the halls to his mother’s rooms. He stood by the door long enough to give up on deciphering their words. Mother, Father, and the Maester spoke in rushed, worried tones but the words were too muffled to understand. All he managed to hear was something concerning Jon Arryn as the oak barrier swung shut.

Hollis had retreated to the library to skulk. Another mystery that he wouldn’t get the answers to and the possibility that there was yet another Stark child might be in his future. He knew what usually happened when his parents shared Mother’s chambers. It would be just his luck for it to be another son.

Bran’s chin wobbled as he stared at his feet. The laughter in the courtyard had faded but their lesson wasn’t over yet. Ser Rodrick would expect him to shoot again. Hollis sighed.

“Come here, Bran.” He joined his little brother and knelt next to him. “Do you want me to help?”

“I know what I’m doing.” He protested.

“”Knowing and doing are different.” Hollis reminded him. “Bring you bow back up.” Bran frowned but lifted his bow.

“Keep your shoulders straight.” Hollis guided his arms back into place. “Use your whole body to aim the arrow. Point with your shoulders and hips, not just your arm.” Bran brought his shoulders back into position. “Now, draw back and focus on your form, not aiming.”

Bran drew the string back with an arrow nocked. Hollis adjusted his arm ever so slightly and tapped his shoulder. The arrow flew and struck the target level with the bullseye, to the right a handspan.

“Very good, Bran.” Rodrick gruffly congratulated him. “Now, if you can do that without your brother, I’ll be impressed.”

“Don’t listen to him.” Hollis whispered. “Listen to your body.”

Bran nodded and picked up another arrow. The next two arrows flew true but the third hit the bottom of the target.

“You’re shooting a bow not shaking a hand, boy!” Rodrick boomed. “Two fingers on the string, even a little thing like you doesn’t need more.” Hollis winced but agreed. Bran was just getting flustered. Before they could continue, Father called their attention. A deserter had been captured outside a holdfast to the north. Today was the day that Bran would see his first death.

Hollis kept close to Bran as they rode out. Robb, Jon, and Theon came with, but he doubted the three of them would be as fine company for a scared boy. Theon would treat the whole thing as a joke. Robb would only see it as a chance to prove himself to Father. Jon would be the best choice but his dark, somber brother was just that: dark of mood and ever pondering the tragedies of life. The first time Hollis had seen a man die, he had puked and dreamt about it for weeks. The raper’s head had come flying off and bounced down the stairs of the holdfast. That night, he’d watch paralyzed as the head fell towards him and he plummeted through cloying darkness, unable to see anything. Mother had let him sleep in her chambers for a few nights but then again, he had been five at the time, not seven. If Bran had to see a man die, Hollis wanted to be there for him.

The Night’s Watch deserter didn’t even protest or try to defend himself. He knelt without issue and waited for Ice to cut his life out. Hollis was pleased to see that Jon reached for Bran’s shoulder, just as he did, but less so to hear him tell Bran not to look away.

Afterwards, Hollis helped Bran back onto his pony.

“Are you alright?” He asked in a low tone.

Bran nodded but didn’t say anything. His chin wobbled and his eyes were wide as saucers. His big Tully eyes were as blue as the sky on a clear summer day. Hollis’s own were far closer to grey and his hair was closer to brown than Bran and Robb’s vibrant auburn. Maester Luwin said that the Stark triplets were an excellent example of how features were passed down from parents. Robb was all Tully, Jon was Stark as Stark could be, and Hollis, with his grey-blue eyes, and red-brown hair was a mix of the two.

The Maester meant it as a joke but Hollis always hated the comparison. He and his ‘litter’ were compared enough. It didn’t make him feel more like a Stark or a Tully; it made him feel like the middling left-over. Not as charming and Southron as Robb, not as harsh and Nothron as Jon. He was the middle one who cried when he should have grown out of it and puked at the sight of blood. Even Bran had done better than him.

His younger brother blew a lock of auburn hair out of his eyes. “Hollis? What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing, Brandon.” Hollis covered his melancholy with a grin and finished fiddling with Bran’s saddle straps.

“Don’t call me that.” Bran whined.

“Too long? What about ‘Don’?” Hollis swung into his own saddle. Bran wrinkled up his nose.

“If he does that, you can call him ‘Holly’.” Robb suggested. Bran laughed at the woman’s name.

Hollis was more than ready to take a little teasing if it made Bran feel better. In the end, it didn’t matter, a litter of direwolf pups made the day better than Bran’s last nameday. There were six of them, ranging from pure black to albino white with most of them shades of grey, white, and brown.

As they rode back, the conversation focused on little else. There were four male and two female pups. Robb immediately took a shine to the largest and Jon carried the albino close to his chest. Unlike it’s litter mates, it didn’t squeak or whine. Jon worried about it and stroked its white fur as he rode. It was quite a sight to see the fluffy white-furred pup held against the black wolf on Jon’s coat.

“Can we keep them, Father?” Bran asked. The four boys held their breath as Lord Eddard considered the idea.

“A pup is a good deal of work.” He said after a long moment. “A wolf pup even more so. It would be good for you to learn some responsibility.”

“But’s there’s only six of them.” Bran reminded him, quite worried.

“It’s okay, Bran.” Hollis spoke up. “I have Honor. I don’t need a wolf as well.”

“Well, you’re a Stark. I’d hope you have honor.” Robb teased him. Hollis rolled his eyes skyward and didn’t respond otherwise.

Honor was a gift from Aunt Lysa. Five years ago, on one of his cousins’ visits, she had brought a falcon from the Eyrie’s mews. Hollis had forgotten himself and hugged her fiercely when the falconer brought out his gift. She had laughed and made him promise to care for the bird. Allard, the man who worked the mews in Winterfell, was more than happy to have an apprentice of his own.

When they returned, Hollis went almost immediately to the mews. While his siblings got used to their wolves, he spent time with his falcon. Honor liked to rest on Hollis’s shoulder when not in her individual mew. She left gouges and stains on his clothes but a few added leather strips and Hollis stopped gathering scars. He changed water, cleaned perches, swept out floors, and prepared food with his bird watching it all. Allard had tried to tell him it wasn’t lord’s work when he first started but Hollis had wanted to spend as much time as he could with his bird and also didn’t want to be seen simply milling about. Hours later, Father found him.

“How is your bird?” Lord Stark asked him.

“Quite well. Her injured foot is almost completely healed.” The injury had been a simple thing, really, just a little nick. Hollis still fretted over it and watched it for infection. Sometimes, he swore he could feel the itching of a healing scab on his own foot.

Father smiled and eyed the dozing bird. Her grey and white plumage matched the Stark sigil just as well as the wolves. Apparently feeling a new spectator, Honor open her large dark eyes and stared back at his father.

“She is a proud bird. You are quite found of her and Rickon is quite found of his ‘shaggy dog’.”

“I’m glad.” Hollis said, truthfully.

“Do you have any wish to see the Eyrie yourself?” Father asked.

He blinked. It was an unexpected question. If they were thinking of fostering him, why would the Eyrie be the place to send him? He had spent two separate years at Greywater Watch with Howland Reed, fostering in everything but name. Father had sent him there to learn about the Neck. Father wanted Moat Cailin to be his holdfast someday and wanted him to understand the Crannogmen who would be his neighbors.

“I suppose.” Hollis shrugged. “It would be nice to see the Vale and the castle itself. Mother speaks of how different the South is. Maybe I could even be Lord Arryn’s squire!”

His father’s expression grew dark. “Lord Arryn has left to join his gods. Your cousin Robin is Lord Arryn, now. Or will be when he comes of age.”

Hollis felt his jaw drop and quickly shut it. He had never met the man but knew Father thought of him as a father of his own. He couldn’t imagine what his cousins Minarra and Robin would be going through. Suddenly his thoughts of being the only Stark around and becoming a noble knight seemed very childish.

“We’ve received word from King’s Landing. The king is riding for Winterfell with the royal family.” Father continued. “A great many changes will come with them. Robb will be reaching adulthood soon and Jon speaks of joining Benjen at the Wall. A betrothal may very well link Houses Stark and Baratheon.”

Hollis’s throat tightened at the thought of Jon leaving for the Wall. They were lucky to see Uncle Benjen once every few years. If Jon left, when would be the next time they saw each other? A betrothal wouldn’t be much better. Sansa was of an age with Prince Joffrey. If they married and she became Queen, would they ever speak outside of letters?

Honor screamed and Hollis absently stroked her back. He focused on the black and white bars of her chest as his mind settled.

“I don’t tell you this to distress you, Hollis.” His father rested a hand on his shoulder. “You are becoming a man. The time will come when your course in life is set. I want you to consider what you want that course to be. Robb’s path is set but you have a choice, at least for a time.”

“I’ll think on it, Father.” Hollis promised.

With once last squeeze of his bird-free shoulder, Lord Eddard Stark left. Hollis sat with Honor on his shoulder until the bird fell asleep. He carefully returned her to her perch and then returned to his chambers. A flicker of light lit Jon’s room down the hall from him but Robb’s was dark on the other side. He crawled into bed with a thousand thoughts on his mind and woke with just one.


	2. Lysa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back after too long with a short update and a Guarantee of another next week.

Robin sat against her chest and stifled his sobs as they rode hard for the Gates of the Moon. Minarra had cried herself out at her father’s funeral but sweet little Robin had only now begun to grasp the gravity of their situation. She wished she could keep it from him longer. He was barely six years old, after all. He had enjoyed the ship from King’s Landing to Gulltown. With her husband's squire Hugh as their only companion and their speedy exit, Robin saw it as an adventure.  Uncle Brynden met them with fast horses and quiet men. The ride was hard on her children. She was still shaken herself and her stomach was disquieted by her lack of sleep and the rocking of the ship. They had to reach Eyrie. They would be safe there and she had to keep her children safe.

Uncle Brynden brought his gelding closer to her and Robin. “You should know, the Royces have already sent Albar to the Eyrie. And Lyn Corbray was passing the Bloody Gate when I left. They’re just the first. Other suitors will come.”

Lysa frowned with tight lips. Her husband was hardly cold and the vultures were already descending. They would also be here for Mina. She was yet to flower and a long way off if her flat chest and ever growing height were any proof.

“Any of note?” She asked her uncle.

“Ser Haryle Swyft arrived a week ago. Said he was there to see his former knight master but he’s young enough for marriage.”

Swyft, where had she heard that name? They were a noble family from the Westerlands. Nothing worth noting beyond its borders but she knew the name...from Harys Swyft, Lord Kevan Lannister’s good-father.

Her heart raced. Robin sat up and asked her what was wrong. Was a cousin’s cousin really enough of a connection for her to fear the queen’s influence? In truth, she didn’t even know if Cersei has ordered Jon’s murder. All she had was a coincidence about a dinner and a whisper from Petyr.

“Mother?” Robin repeated.

“How would you like to see grandfather again?” She whispered. It was quiet enough that even Brynden couldn’t hear. Robin grinned and nodded into her chest.

“Lysa?” Brynden prompted.

“I’ll explain when we stop for the night.” She assured him.

They stopped at a small inn and Lysa conferred with her uncle. King’s Landing must have realized she was heading for the Eyrie with Jon’s heirs in tow. While she longed for the safety and view of the mountain fortress it was already taken and forces were surely on the move. ‘Impregnable’ didn’t mean much when you invited your enemies in with a welcoming feast and Jon’s death proved what the lions thought of guest rite.

If the Eyrie was lost, Edmure and their ailing father would welcome them in Riverrun. Already, she longed for the sound of the rushing rivers and the sight of the land gate closing behind her. Uncle Brynden agreed. Half of his men would ride ahead of them from Iron Oaks under orders to prepare for their passage. Rather than continuing north, their smaller party would turn east, feigning interest in showing Robin the Bloody Gate.

They spent two nights at Uncle Brynden’s castle, recovering from their hard ride and gathering supplies. Quick valley striders were traded for surefooted mountain ponies and embroidered riding clothes from the capitol were switched for nondescript wool. The clansmen were sedate at the moment but there was no surer way of summoning them than to wear wealth into the mountains. They were already taking a risk traveling with two women of child-bearing age and relatively few guards.

The risks weighed on Lysa as they rode out through the gate. Robin sat his own pony and stared wide-eyed at the steep valley walls. Uncle Brynden ordered his men to keep a close eye on the surroundings. Sweet Robin had taken that to mean he should soak up every bit of the harsh landscape. Minarra rode close to him and spoke quietly of what she had read.

They camped their first night in a valley full of wild goats. The guard captain swore it was a good sign as it meant that there were no shadowcats or clansmen about. Lysa silently thought that cats and savages had chased them from King’s Landing. She wrung her hands and wondered just how far the danger spread. Would Ruverrrun also host Lannister supporters? Tywin Lannister’s own sister had married a Frey. As much as Father loathed Lord Walder, would he refuse guests from the Twins? No, there was no guarantee of safety in her childhood home after all.

For his part, Uncle Brynden didn’t seem surprised when she came to him with another change in destination. They waited until  Hugh- the boy Jon had raised from nothing- was on watch then explained in hushed whispers. They mounted up with muffled tack as the rest of the Gate knights slept. The only light came from the moon as they picked their way up the valley and into the true mountain highlands.

Uncle Brynden led them on foot. Lysa rode behind him with Robin dozing against her chest. Minarra came next and Hugh took up the rear with his bow at the ready and a sword on his hip. They climbed the entire night until Lysa was nearly sure that they would be walking in the clouds soo. When the sun rose, Robin cried because of his cold fingers and aching body. Minarra stayed dry eyed until Brynden they suggested they cut her hair. A boy would draw less attention by far. Lysa felt the prick of tears herself as her daughter’s long brown tresses fell onto the stony ground but it was all for their safety. She had to keep her children safe.

She was trading her daughters beautiful hair for a better chance at safety. She was braving harsh mountains and clansmen to keep her son away from the creeping fingers of Lannisters. She carried a belt knife and Hugh’s advice like a anvil because she was determined to  keep themsafe.

She had to keep her children safe. She repeated it to herself like a prayer. From the highlands to Strongsong. From Strongsong to Snakewood. From Snakewood in a stinking, rocking trading galley to White Harbor and then on the final leg of their journey along the White River. She had to keep her children safe. Their safety would be worth a thousand saddle sores and frostbit fingers. For their own good, she would make Minarra wear shapeless trousers and scold Robin into silencing his tears.

Because she had to keep her children safe.


	3. Minarra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what editing is never met her in my life

Minarra’s stomach was tied in a knot as they rode through the Winter Town. Robin kept tugging at her cloak to point out all the new faces and buildings and wonderful trifles. Robin was a baby and she was nearly a woman grown at thirteen years of age. She had to keep her head up and her eyes dry, no matter how scared she was. Being back in Winterfell would make her feel safer. She just wished that she still had her hair.

 

Uncle Brynden had made her cut it the first day in the mountains. A boy would attract less attention than a maiden, he reasoned. She had agreed but that didn’t stop her from crying when she saw the first of the long brown tresses land on the rocky ground. She wore Ser Hugh’s spare trousers rolled up six times and Uncle Brynden’s sleep shirt tucked into them. The last time she’s been this far north, she’s worn fine blue wools and a fur line cloak. Now she was wearing clothes that stunk of horse. She’s promised Sansa she’d show her southron hair styles but now what could she do? Mina ran a hand over her short hair and bit her lip.

 

“What do you think that red lantern means?” Robin asked, blissfully ignorant of his sister’s tears. He had stopped being afraid once they reached Strong Heart. To him it was an adventure. Mina knew better. She knew that Father hadn’t just taken ill. She paid enough attention to Mother and Uncle Brynden’s whispering for that.

 

Guards stopped them when they reached the gate of Wintefell castle but quickly escorted them into a solar when Mother threw back her hood and demanded an audience with her sister. When Aunt Catelyn rushes in. Mother and her embraced each other tightly.

“Lysa! We thought you were dead!” Aunt Catelyn looked just like she had years ago. Mother had grown more haggard and wan with their years in the capitol.  Minarra wondered if she and her sister would have looked so alike if she hadn’t been born silent.

“I am sorry for the worry but it was necessary. We had nowhere else to go, Cat. The Lannisters have spies in the Eyrie and I fear that they may have people in Riverrun as well.”

“The Lannisters? Why would they want you dead.”

“Jon did not die of a simple illness. The last man to dine with him before he took ill was Lancel Lannister.”

“But why?”

“Because he was always a threat to their power. And there was something else. Something I’m unsure of but Jon was already making plans to send us from the city when he died.”

Father had known that they were in danger? Did he know that he was thee one who would die instead? Minarra folded her hands in front of her to stop their shaking. Beside her, Robin stared with wide eyes.

“Mother, I thought that Father was only ill.” He whispered.

Mother seemed to remember that they were there. She rushed to Robin’s side and drew him into an embrace. Aunt Catelyn shifted nervously.

“I am sorry, my strong boy. It is true. But we’ll be safe here. Won’t we, Cat?”

Aunt Catelyn nodded minutely. “Let me call for Old Nan. She can watch them while we discuss this.”

“No!” Mother shouted. “I want them here.”

Aunt Catelyn recoiled a bit then nodded again. “Jory, would you fetch Lord Stark for me?”

The man at arms bowed and left. Lysa took Robin’s hand in her own and rest the other on Minarra’s shoulder. Her grip was tight but she could feel a tremble in her mother’s fingers. Uncle Brynden cleared his throat.

“Cat, this is Ser Hugh Hall. He was Lord Arryn’s squire before his death.” Ser Hugh bowed.

Aunt Catelyn nodded and then turned to Minarra and her brother.

“I heartens me to see my favorite niece and nephew.” She smiled at them. “You’ve both grown so much since I last saw you. Robin, you were just beginning to walk.”

Minarra’s heart felt just a bit lighter, even though she knew that it was just an effort to cheer them up. Robin brushed off the new information about Father’s death and began to tell Aunt Catelyn all about his latest storybook.

Lord Stark arrived with a frown and a redheaded man at his shoulder. With a start, Minarra realized that this was her cousin Robb. She could hardly recognize him.

Mother began to explain what had happened in the last few months. Robin and stared and Minarra began to feel the tears creeping back in her eyes. Somehow, it was harder to hear it all laid out. Father’s strange investigations that took him all over the city, his illness and death, Littlefinger’s warning, their flight from the capitol and trek across the realm, constantly trying to stay one step ahead of those that wanted them dead. Maybe it was the new information that was getting to her. Ser High cleared his throat and awkwardly added that Father had been visiting brothels, armor shops, and the great library with Ser Stannis of all people.

When it was over, Robin was in Mother’s arms, Minarra felt like her fingers were never going to unclench, and Lord Stark was sitting with his hand on his chin. Robb was looking from his mother to his father as if looking for a cue.

“Ned, we have to prepare.” Aunt Catelyn implored her husband.

“Robert is already coming.” Lord Stark shook his head. “We cannot refuse him now anymore than we could before. He will come and make his demands. All we can do is prepare with what he have learned.”

“The king is coming here?” Mother said. “Will the queen be coming as well.”

Lord Stark nodded. “The whole of the royal household is on the move. In another turn of the moon they will be here.”

“Lysa,” Aunt Catelyn stepped forward “we will keep you safe. Your children will be a carefully guarded as our own. We have time. When the Lannisters arrive, we will be prepared for them.”

The assurance calmed Mother a degree but Minarra could see the fear in her still. Rooms were arranged for them and baths were drawn. Minarra cried as she scrubbed soap into her too short hair and scrubbed at the road dirt on her skin. When she was exited, a fresh dress and her cousin were waiting for her.

“Minarra!” Sansa threw her arms around her neck. “I didn’t know you were coming! Mother said that you couldn’t send us a message but I wish that you had. I could have told Jeyne and Beth all about you! It’s been so long. Oh, you must tell me all about King’s Landing.”

Minarra caught her breath as her cousin took a step back. Sansa was taller than her by half a hand’s width and looked to still be growing. The dress was probably one of her too-small gowns. Her long auburn hair ran down to her waist in a loose northron style. Minarra self-consciously pushed a lock of her wet hair behind her ear.

Sansa gasped. “What happened!”

“We had to cut it.” Minarra whispered.

“I’m sorry.” Sansa ran her finger over another lock. “I’m sure that Jeyne and I can find something to do with it. We’re getting much better at braiding each other’s hair.”

Minarra smiled and sniffed back any more tears. Sansa was the first person to say sorry about her hair.

“Your mother is talking with mine Robin is asleep. We’re not supposed to disturb them but you can come with me. Hollis will be so excited to show you his falcon! He loves her and constantly talks about going to the Vale these days. I think he wants to be like Uncle Brynden and roam the South.”

Sansa led Minarra by the hand to a warm room with two other young girls and a septa. Baskets of needle work sat next to fine instruments and soon the comforting sounds of conversation. It was the first time since she’d heard that Father was ill that Minarra had felt almost normal. Jeyne and Beth were far different conversation than Myrcella or Rosamund.

In the middle of the two northron girls both trying to explain how the hot springs worked at the same time, the door was thrown open. A slightly panicked looking Ser Hugh burst into the room.

“Lady Minarra! I have been looking for you.” He panted. “Where have you been?”

“Here, Ser Hugh. Why were you looking for me? Is there something wrong?”

“No, no. I promised your mother that I would watch over you.” He admitted. Minarra blushed and tried to ignore the giggle behind her.

“Thank you, Ser Hugh.” She said. “Can you tell my mother where I am. I intend to spend the rest of the afternoon with my cousin and her ladies.”

The young knight nodded, bowed, and left the room. As soon as he was gone, Sansa demanded Minarra tell her everything about her ‘sworn sword’. Minarra continued to pick away at her embroidery as she told them about Ser Hugh’s loyalty to her father. Sansa thought it was all very noble but Minarra couldn’t help but wonder why the man was loyal after her father’s death.


	4. Hollis II

Hollis’s horse flew over the moor and his cloak flew behind him, flapping a pair of wings. Robb and Jon were behind him, looking for any signs of the deer but Hollis didn’t need to see it himself. Honor circled overheard and screeched at him. Grey Wind and Ghost may be the symbol of their house but they still were too small to hunt and couldn’t fly anyway.

His gelding thundered down a hill and into a stand of aspens. A rustle came from his right but Hollis ignored it. He could ignore any startled rabbits. Honor was still ahead of him. His horse vaulted a stream and he nearly lost his seat. A flash of brown fur, he lifted his javelin- he flew sideways and struck the ground. The air rushed out of his lungs and he gasped as he listened to his horse scream, a grunting squeal followed.

Hollis lifted his head. He was feet away from a boar nearly as tall as his horse. It was distracted with slashing at his poor gelding and hadn’t noticed him. That wouldn’t last long. The only weapon he had on him was his belt knife which was useless against a boar. Maybe if he could grab his javelin he could survive. It had flown out of his grip to the right of where he lay.

He rolled and scrabbled for it. Inches away, the boar snorted and Hollis froze. He heard the first footstep and he lunged for his weapon. He twisted with the shaft in hand and the boar charged at him. He fumbled to plant the weapon in front of him but his fingers felt as stiff cold iron.

He could see the beady piggy eyes full of rage hurtling towards him and then the boar shuddered slightly and veered off its course. A second arrow struck its side and hooves pounded towards them. Robb’s horse barely danced out of the way of the boar’s tusks and Jon planted his own javelin in its hide as it charged past. Theon sat astride in the stream with his bow raised. Two more guards were quickly gaining on them. The weapon was in his hands and the boar was in front of him. He just needed to stand and lunge for its exposed hindquarters. But his horse was dying noisily in background and Hollis’s legs trembled under him.

Stand up. It should be easy. Just stand up and lunge. But he didn’t. The boar died riddled with arrows and javelins surrounded by the other hunters but Hollis stayed frozen on the ground.

“Are you alright?” Robb dismounted and ran towards him.

Hollis nodded. He watched Jory dismount by his horse and slice its throat. The screaming ended abruptly but the blood still poured from the gashes in its belly. Theon trotted up with a grin on his face.

“We were looking for a deer, Hollis.” The squid told him. “You can tell the difference, right? Otherwise it will be quite uncomfortable when the king arrives.”

“Yes.” Hollis snapped.

Robb laughed a slapped him on the shoulder. “Ignore him. He’s just mad he didn’t get the first blow in. Willis! Ride for the castle. We need a new horse for my brother and porters for our prize!”

One of the followers nodded and spurred his horse into action. Hollis frowned at his brother. Theon had gotten the first blow, not him. Theon had struck a charging boar from dozens of paces on horseback while Hollis hadn’t even noticed the animal. He should correct Robb but he still felt frozen.

His shaking fingers didn’t steady until they were back in Winterfell and he was safely hidden away in his rooms. He remained quiet through the impromptu feast that night. The roasted boar tasted rich and fatty but he didn’t enjoy it. Father congratulated them on their prize. Mother sighed the same way she did whenever Bran was caught climbing and urged them to be more careful next time. Aunt Lysa, however, was the one who seemed most unnerved by their close call with death. Ser Hugh had been on the hunt as well and had seen Hollis’s stand.

She found him after the feast by the mews. Honor was well rested after her day’s flight and eager for more activity. He released her in one of the courtyards and threw training birds into the air for her to catch on the wing.

“I see that she is doing well.” Aunt Lysa called out to him as she approached. Hollis called Honor back and smiled to himself as she settled on his leather mitt easily.

“She is. She was an amazing gift, Aunt Lysa.I can’t thank you enough.”

“You have quite a few times, already.” She smiled back at him but it didn’t help the strained look on her face. She seemed to be very strained all the time this trip. Maybe Hollis hadn’t noticed it last time as he was younger or it was the death of Lord Arryn weighing at her but she always seemed so distracted and nervous.

“Usually, I never lose my quarry on a hunt.” Hollis boasted. “She keeps sight of them for me better than any scent hound I’ve worked with.”

“Do you hunt often, Hollis?”

He shrugged. “When we can. Robb, Jon, and I are usually busy with lessons or training but Father lets us hunt from time to time. He says its better to see our skills in action pursuing an animal than to test ourselves the first time in battle.” And, considering how Hollis acquitted himself today, that was probably a good idea.

Lysa’s smiled vanished at the mention of battle. “Isn’t that dangerous? I’ve seen many a knight felled by a fall from a horse or a poorly aimed arrow.”

“I am no craven.”

“That was not my bent, I assure you.” Lysa rested her hand on his free arm. “Hollis, Ser Hugh told me about how you faced the boar  head on after your losing your horse. You faced a sight that would scare a man grown and held your courage. I merely ask of you to not seek out danger unnecessarily. The world is full of stories of noble knight lost in battle. There are not enough stories that sign of the wisdom of age or the honor in knowing when not to wield a blade.”

Her fingers tightened slightly around his arm. Hollis nodded slowly, more to please her that in understanding. Lysa’s smile returned with a tinge of relief. He thought briefly of his uncle Brandon. If he had known to keep his blade sheathed how different would the world be today?

“Your lord father mentioned you traveling to the Vale to serve as a squire for one of our knights. The Eyrie would serve as a wonderful home for you. And for Honor.” She nodded to his bird.

“Father speaks highly of the Eyrie. To squire for one of the knights of the Vale would-” he struggled to find the right words.

Lysa saved him by answering. “The Vale would teach you many things that you have not learned and some things that you do. I look forward to seeing my nephew in the halls of my late lord husband.”

And with that she departed. Hollis buzzed with excitement as he returned Honor to her cage. Aunt Lysa had agreed! He could train to be a knight and learn the ways of Southron. Perhaps Uncle Brynden would agree to take him on and they could travel through the Riverlands or Vale, learning and seeing new sights the way only a knight errant could. A knighthood and a collection of manners would do him well if he was to succeed at his dream of fulfilling Moat Cailan’s full potential. The old castle lay at the crossroads between a half dozen different cultures. He had learned the ways of the Nothroners and the Crannogmen, even seen a bit of Theon’s ways. Moat Cailan may be the forgotten gateway to the North now but Hollis was determined to prove himself and his future castle.


	5. Minarra II

The godswood of Winterfell was different from the godswoods Minarra had seen before. It was peaceful and holy as most were but there was a coldness to it that didn’t match the rest of castle. Despite the ‘summer snow’ that fell, Winterfell was a warm place. The hot springs kept her chambers here as warm as the ones she had in Father’s tower. Outside the walls, the warmth vanished. The towering branches of the weirwood made it feel like they were being constantly watched. She didn’t care for it any more than she cared for Ser Hugh’s constant watchfulness.

Sansa thought it was touching and gallant of the young knight to swear himself to Minarra’s service. Mother was happy to have a sworn blade at her side now that Uncle Brynden was returning to Riverrun. Robb was thrilled to have a new sparring partner and Lord Stark was clearly pleased as well. Minarra felt like she was the only one who didn’t trust him. A few of the gruff northerners has questioned trusting an untested man of six and ten as guard but Ser Hugh’s failure didn’t worry her nearly as much as the idea of him succeeding on behalf of someone else.

Beside her Sansa giggled behind her hand and Arya elbowed her viciously. The two sisters’ ever present dispute almost flared up again before Minarra shushed them. She still had an eye on Ser Hugh as he cast about the ground below. Robin and Rickon trailed behind him as captives and helped him search for more hiders. Bran was still hidden somewhere, then. The older boys were too important to be playing games on a day like this but Minarra was clinging to the last moments of rough wool skirts and climbing trees that she could.

“My ladies, please!” Ser Hugh shouted. “We don’t have much time before we must prepare for the reception!”

Arya rolled her eyes. “Everyone’s tried that trick.”

Ser Hugh moved on and they could hear him yelling as he went.

“What if he wasn’t trying to trick us?” Sansa asked. “What if the King has come early.”

“It’s not even midday yet. We have plenty of time.” Arya said.

Minarra resettled herself on her branch. Unlike the Eyrie or at home in King’s Landing, there were no clock towers in Winterfell. She’d have to defer to her cousins’ judgement for the time. Ser Hugh’s shouts faded out and a new voice started to shout their names.

“Is that Jon?” Sansa whispered.

“It sounds like him.” Arya said.

“That’s because it is him.” The three girls jumped. “Get down. Everyone’s looking for you.” Hollis stood beneath their tree glaring up at them with his hands on his hips. He looked so much like Mother in a severe mood that Minarra almost laughed.

“How’d you find us so fast?” Arya grumbled. She swung herself down a few branches and then dropped, only stumbling a bit on the uneven roots.

“I showed you that spot myself, Arya.” Hollis reminded her. “Now, come one. Mother is going to be furious if we’re not ready.”

Sansa and Minarra took a much more careful route down then followed Hollis back into the keep.

The castle beyond the godswood was a flurry of activity. It had been for busy days with all the preparation but now it was time for the people to be dressed up, rather than the furnishings. Mother was already wearing a neat wool dress and her elaborate braids by the time Minarra arrived. She didn’t say anything just started to brush out Minarra’s hair with a bit more force than usual. The dress she wore was one of Sansa’s old gowns. Her cousin had insisted she wear it because it had been her favorite before she’d grown out of the purple wool. Sansa had even embroidered a few small falcons onto the sleeves. It was a hand-me-down and a bit frayed in the elbows but Minarra loved it.

She ran her fingers over the embroidery with one hand and gripped her Mother’s fingers in the other as the King rode through the gates. Maybe the person who killed Father was riding through with him. The procession of his royal retinue clattered after like a small slice of King’s Landing’s noise had been transplanted into the quiet North. Minarra held her chin up high and resisted the need to fidget at her wimple. It was supposed to hide her shorn hair but she felt like everyone must know what was underneath, considering how every other woman in the courtyard had her hair loose aside from her mother.

King Robert plummeted off his horse and boomed out a greeting to everyone involved. He hugged lord Stark like a brother and proceeded down the line of Stark children right up to the Arryns. Minarra wasn’t even sure that he would have realized that she and Robin weren’t more Starks if Mother hadn’t been standing between them.

“Lady Lysa! The gods are good to keep you well.” His whiskery face engulphed her hand as he pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “We feared the worst when you disappeared from the capitol. Lord Jon would return to the land of the living if he found out I managed to lose his wife in just days.”

Mother smiled politely. “The death of my lord husband distressed me. I sought comfort with my sister.”

“Aye. I must ask you to leave a letter next time.” He commanded. His humor came and went like a summer snow.

“Of course, your grace.” She curtsied slightly. The storm in King Robert’s eyes cleared in a blink and turned his smiling face towards Minarra and Robin. She expected him to address them next but the King just nodded in satisfaction and then ordered Ned to show him the crypts. Queen Cersei protested half-heartedly but he overruled her. Lady Catelyn stepped forward into the gap left by the King’s presence and began to direct their guests and train.

Minarra hadn’t mustered up the courage to visit the crypts. She had gotten lost in the tunnels beneath the Red Keep once while playing with one of the Royce girls and hated it. It was as cold and damp as winter, even in the height of summer. The darkness scared her and made her think that voices were whispering behind every corner. Father had sent the Royce sisters back to Runestone after they found her crying in a dead end shaft. Apparently they had thought it a grand joke.

Arya rolled her eyes and said that the crypts weren’t scary unless you’re a baby. To prove that he wasn’t a baby, Robin had tried to spend the whole night in one of the tunnels with Bran and Arya. Lady Catelyn stormed in with a lantern and a firm glare before the sun had even fully set. Robin had another nightmare that night and climbed into her bed. She hugged him and told him that the ghosts weren’t real, of course they weren’t.

The night hadn’t dimmed Robin’s opinion of his cousins, at least. He sat between Arya and Bran during the celebration feast. Tommen and Myrcella seemed put off by the Northern dishes served. Robin, with added encourage from his cousins, was making a show of eating any food put before him.

“They’re forgetting their manners!” Sansa hissed into her ear.

“They’re making friends with Tommen and Cella.” Minarra pointed out.

She seemed encouraged by that. Sansa liked the idea that they would all become great friends while the royal family was in Winterfell. She would marry Joffrey, Myrcella would marry Bran and Minarra would marry Tommen, even if she was a bit too old for him. Arya was much too wild for a prince, she had sniffed.

“Another cup of wine, your grace?” She asked Joffrey. The Prince seemed to remember that she was there and held out his goblet carelessly. Sansa delicately poured some in a smiled back at him. He didn’t seem to mind.

Minarra hoped that Father had been right and that Joffrey would grow out of his ‘youthful distemper’. If for no one’s sake but for Sansa. She was smitten and Mother said the King would surely propose such a match. She had said it like it was guaranteed, not an if but a when. On the other side of table, past the adults, the triplets sat at on the King’s left hand. Hollis noticed her looking and waved. Theon was yelling counversing enough with the castle steward that she could hear them all the way down here.

The noise and the smoke and the crush of people made it hard to see who was or wasn’t there but as Minarra counted golden heads, she noticed one absence. Ser Jaime as positioned right behind the Queen with Ser Barristen behind the King but the third Lannister was nowhere to be seen. She scanned the crowd but a dwarf would be difficult to be seen in the press of bodies, even with her raised vantage. Robert shoved away from the table and slid his arms around a serving girl. She yelped in surprise and dropped her plate of pasties. He led her to the space before the dais and the band made a stronger effort to be heard over the din. The pounding of mugs against the tables set a clearer beat as the two began to dance. The King’s face was red with wine and the girl’s face was flushed nearly the same color. Any serving girl would blush if the King had asked her to dance. Or commanded.

Soon others, rose to join him. Ser Hugh asked Beth Cassel to dance and they joined the growing throng. Minarra took the King’s departure as permission for her to leave as well. She rose quietly and left the hall, curtseying to Lord Stark and the Queen who hardly seemed to notice. Mother nodded to her and seemed concerned but didn’t stop her. She wound her way through the tangled halls of Winterfell to the library, grateful to not have Ser Hugh’s jingling mail a step behind. She had used the library as a reference point while she learned her way about the castle. The squat tower was easy to recognize and it was a good place to return to if she was lost, anyways.

Torchlight from the courtyard flickered through the great glass windows in the library. It wasn’t enough to see by, just made the shadows seem all the deeper. Minarra lit a lantern and carried it to her spot at one of the reading tables. A copy of Qorgin Qarwile’s ‘A Journey to the Eastern Lands’ was still waiting for her. The Lysene trader had made studious maps of his trips. Coastlines from the Fingers of the Vale to ports of Ashai by the Shadow were detailed in the old tome. Minarra had been amusing herself by comparing Qorgin’s maps with the most recent copy of the Vale in Winterfell. There were whole valleys missing from the Lysene’s map and Minarra knew of two towns that weren’t shown on either. They’d been founded after they were made. Little details and discrepancies like that fascinated her.

Father had always warned her about ink on pages not matching what lay in the world. He had impressed the importance on her so that she would be careful which advisors she would trust but it had made her want to see things herself. Sailing about the Narrow Sea wasn’t something she was afforded, however. Father never dissuaded her from her books and maps. He said that a sharp mind was a vital for a woman as it was for a man. Before Robin was born, when Minarra was perhaps his last living descendent, she had hoped she would be the one to rule the Vale someday. It seemed silly now Father was dead. Mother was to be Robin’s regent until he was of age and Minarra would marry an important man. A Lynderly for their navy, a Royce for their granaries, or a Redfort for their armies. It wouldn’t be the same as sitting in Father’s seat before the Moon Door but Minarra wanted to see a new castle, learn a new holding.

“Not enjoying the pleasures of Winterfell’s feasting?”

Minarra startled and turned.

“Lord Tyrion, I did not hear you come in.” She managed a wobbly curtsy.

“That would be because I was here before you.” The Imp smiled up at her. His mismatched eyes always unsettled her. “Truth be told, I wasn’t enjoy the feast much myself. The library hold much more appetizing fare.”

All of Mother’s fears of Lannisters lurking in dark corners grabbed at her throat. Ser Hugh’s absence felt a good deal less reassuring now. She fell back on her courtesies to save her.

“Of course, my lord.”

“I almost envy you your run across the realm for the chance of more time here. The libraries of the southern kingdoms have shown me all I can see, the best as I can tell. One day I’ll break into that tower the Maesters guard so closely but until then this will have to suffice. Is that a copy of Qorgin’s work in its entirety?”

“Yes, my lord. Or at least I think it is.” Minarra moved out of the wave so he could look at the book himself. The Imp pulled himself up into a chair next to hers and began to flip through the pages. She noticed that he kept one of his broad fingers between the pages she had been examining.

“Ah, it is. All the copies I’ve looked at before have missed Braavos. How the man managed to chart the canals is beyond me. Perhaps this is merely conjecture. I’ve never been to Braavos. Though Braavos seems to have come to us, in part.”

“My Lord?” Minarra asked and then winced. She was beginning to sound like a simpleton like Hodor.

“Lord Baelish, your mother’s old friend.” Tyrion looked up from the book at her. “Braavosi by birth and a money tender by profession. You’d think that he’d been dreamed up by the mummers in Flea Bottom who think all Myrish are prostitutes and Tyroshi are sailors.”

“Tyrosh is an island. Nearly everyone needs to be a sailor there. Or at least everyone who would come to Westeros.”

“A fair point. Maybe the same happens in Myr. I’ll have to go see someday.” He shrugged. Minarra tried not to blush at the idea of what he implied.

Lord Tyrion pulled a folio of Northron maps closer to himself and began to page through them. Minarra gingerly retrieved the copy of Qorgin’s maps. The small falcon that represented the Eyrie stared up at her and she wished she was there. She couldn’t say she wished she was home because the Tower of the Hand was still home to her but her rooms in the Eyrie’s east wall would be safer.

“Is cartography a skill taught to most eastron ladies?” Lord Tyrion asked her after a moment of silence.

“No, my lord-”

“Please, ‘Tyrion’ is easier.”

“No, Tyrion.” She corrected. “But it is taught to heirs. The mountains of the east have kept our people safe since the Winged Knight. My father impressed the importance of knowing them well.”

“A clever man, your father, to impress the importance of a good book. I was sad to see him take ill. King’s Landing is worse for it.”

As if a Lannister would care about his death beyond what he would gain. Minarra prepared a sharply polite response but found her throat was too tight to speak. Gods, she missed Father. She missed sitting in his solar with her harp while he worked because he claimed expense accounts were easier when she was there. She missed the little nicknames he would make for her. She missed the days when he would sit her on his lap and think aloud about road constructions and granary design.

“I hope you don’t think me cruel, my lady.” Tyrion apologized. His voice was much softer now. “I have been called both brash and callous before. I did not mean to reopen fresh gried. Your father was a good man.”

Minarra nodded. “Thank you, Tyrion. His lessons on the hills served me well recently.”

He smiled again at that. “Ah, your father was right. You are too good for my nephew.”

Minarra prayed no one else was near enough to hear the treason. Tyrion waved his hand lazily.

“Don’t worry about what anyone will say. That potential match was never to come to pass. My sister and your mother are too alike. A fierce lioness about her cubs and…a mother trout? I’m not sure. Do trout rear their young as the beasts of the land do.”

“I don’t think so.” Minarra replied. “Pardon me, I should return to the feast before my mother begins to worry.”

“Aye, she does that.” Tyrion hopped off his chair and bowed slightly as she rose. She curtseyed in return and quickly left the library.


End file.
